Scaramouche eBook

“You are to understand that if you are still
there in two minutes it will be very much the worse
for you.” And M. de Lesdiguieres tinkled
the silver hand-bell upon his table.

“I have informed you, monsieur, that a duel
— so-called — has been fought, and a man
killed. It seems that I must remind you, the
administrator of the King’s justice, that duels
are against the law, and that it is your duty to hold
an inquiry. I come as the legal representative
of the bereaved mother of M. de Vilmorin to demand
of you the inquiry that is due.”

The door behind Andre-Louis opened softly. M.
de Lesdiguieres, pale with anger, contained himself
with difficulty.

“You seek to compel us, do you, you impudent
rascal?” he growled. “You think the
King’s justice is to be driven headlong by the
voice of any impudent roturier? I marvel at
my own patience with you. But I give you a last
warning, master lawyer; keep a closer guard over that
insolent tongue of yours, or you will have cause very
bitterly to regret its glibness.” He waved
a jewelled, contemptuous hand, and spoke to the usher
standing behind Andre. “To the door!”
he said, shortly.

Andre-Louis hesitated a second. Then with a
shrug he turned. This was the windmill, indeed,
and he a poor knight of rueful countenance. To
attack it at closer quarters would mean being dashed
to pieces. Yet on the threshold he turned again.

“M. de Lesdiguieres,” said he, “may
I recite to you an interesting fact in natural history?
The tiger is a great lord in the jungle, and was
for centuries the terror of lesser beasts, including
the wolf. The wolf, himself a hunter, wearied
of being hunted. He took to associating with
other wolves, and then the wolves, driven to form
packs for self-protection, discovered the power of
the pack, and took to hunting the tiger, with disastrous
results to him. You should study Buffon, M. de
Lesdiguieres.”

“I have studied a buffoon this morning, I think,”
was the punning sneer with which M. de Lesdiguieres
replied. But that he conceived himself witty,
it is probable he would not have condescended to reply
at all. “I don’t understand you,”
he added.

“But you will, M. de Lesdiguieres. You
will,” said Andre-Louis, and so departed.

CHAPTER VII

THE WIND

He had broken his futile lance with the windmill —
the image suggested by M. de Kercadiou persisted in
his mind — and it was, he perceived, by sheer
good fortune that he had escaped without hurt.
There remained the wind itself — the whirlwind.
And the events in Rennes, reflex of the graver events
in Nantes, had set that wind blowing in his favour.

He set out briskly to retrace his steps towards the
Place Royale, where the gathering of the populace
was greatest, where, as he judged, lay the heart and
brain of this commotion that was exciting the city.